


Too Hot to Handle

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [5]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “You going to keep staring?”“It’s only fair that I get tosee,considering that you got to do alot morelast night.”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175





	1. The Devil on My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> The drill ain't changed. Standalone plot. Events independent of the earlier story "Catch Me If You Can." This one continues right where the previous story left off, but you don't need to read that to understand the plot of this story.
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Soldier

_If I die out here in the cold tonight, my ghost is going to haunt Romanoff till the end of eternity._

That is, of course, if the Russian hadn’t gotten herself killed in this frigid Canadian snow forest.

Maria gripped the handle of her snowmobile tightly as her head whipped around to look for the redhead. The moonlight was doing bare minimum to illuminate the snow-shrouded surroundings, and she had to squint her eyes as she swept her gaze around to scan the expanse of the wilderness.

The snowmobile was zipping at insane speeds as she weaved past the countless pine trees, making the bitter wind bite into Maria’s skin, and she gritted her teeth to stop them from chattering.

_What the hell am I even doing here?_

Maria was supposed to be on leave. No, not even on leave. She was supposed to be on a _vacation._

And yet, there she was, in the sub-arctic woods, in search of the redheaded agent who’d gone rogue.

Apparently, Romanoff’s mission had gone south, and instead of calling for backup – or even _informing_ HQ – the woman had just gone ahead and decided to finish the op anyway. And since _Maria’s_ location was closest to the Russian’s last known coordinates, she had no choice but to try hunting her down.

_Trust Romanoff to never know when to quit and to put herself smack dab in the middle of –_

An explosion.

There were _explosions_ – plural – somewhere in the far distance.

 _Of course_ , there were explosions. Trouble always followed the Russian.

_Like fucking moth to flame._

Maria cursed under her breath as she veered the snowmobile in the direction of the sound, and increased her speed, hoping that she could get there quick enough.

The wind was hitting hard against her body while she drove, and she could feel the gun and the extra clip of bullets that she’d tucked in the pockets of her innermost coat pressing against her sides.

_I really, really hope I don’t have to use them._

* * *

The blasts hadn’t happened again, but Maria could see smoke rising from the distant mountains, way beyond the forest she was in.

She kept driving towards it and soon found herself out of the foliage, a near-frozen lake in front of her. Maria swerved the snowmobile away from the water, driving along beside it, and she suddenly caught a movement in her peripheral vision.

She turned her head towards it and the sight made her halt the vehicle, her body lurching as she stopped abruptly.

There was a person at the other side of the lake, struggling to get out of the water.

It was a lot less dark out in the open, without the trees from earlier blocking out the moonlight, but Maria still couldn’t identify the person from the distance.

_Dammit, there’s no other human out here to help… whoever that is._

Maria quickly revved up the engine and began driving along the circumference of the lake, her gaze zeroing in on the figure.

The person eventually managed to get out onto the land and rolled away from the water almost immediately. Maria got closer and she could finally see the damp but still conspicuously red tresses.

_Jesus, it’s Romanoff._

Maria stopped the snowmobile as near as she could get to the ice, and then leaped off the seat, her eyes never leaving the woman. Romanoff was still on the ground and she had curled herself into a ball, her body shivering in the cold.

Maria ran up to her and dropped down to her knees, gathering the redhead’s quaking form into her arms.

“ _Goddammit_ , Romanoff,” Maria growled, “You’re _freezing_.”

The Russian’s eyes cracked open instantly, the panic in them lasting just a second before she recognised Maria.

“H-hey th-there, hot st-stuff,” Romanoff stuttered, her teeth chattering almost violently.

The woman’s clothes were cold and drenched, and her temperature was dropping fast. And Maria didn’t waste any more time before grabbing the Russian’s shirt and quickly undoing the buttons. She peeled the wet clothes off Romanoff’s body, stripping the woman almost fully naked.

The redhead had a few bruises and scrapes along her midsection, and Maria felt a twinge in her heart at the sight. But she brushed it aside and reached for her own coat, shrugging it off her shoulders and then pulling it over Romanoff’s trembling torso.

She stood up to take off her outermost pants and then proceeded to make the redhead wear them, covering the woman’s entire body with the dry clothes. Maria could feel the chill strongly now, and she silently thanked her stars for remembering to wear multiple layers.

She knelt on the ground once again and took Romanoff into a hug, hoping to pass on some of her body heat to the woman. And the redhead immediately nuzzled her nose into the crook of Maria’s neck, yearning for the warmth.

“I bet I’m _real_ hot stuff, right now,” Maria muttered into the Russian’s ear.

Romanoff pulled back just a little, her dim eyes sparkling for a second, “Y-you’re _always_ h-hot st-stuff, Hill.”

Maria would have smiled, but the woman’s breathing was very shallow, and her skin still felt alarmingly cold. Maria pulled the redhead even closer and began rubbing her arm; just gently enough to create friction, but not too roughly to agitate the woman’s already irregularly beating heart.

Maria didn’t know any details about Romanoff’s op, so she had absolutely no idea how the Russian had managed to get herself in this situation. But it didn’t matter at the moment, as Maria tried to curb the redhead’s shudders.

They stayed like that for some time, until Romanoff’s breathing started to stabilise. The Russian was still shivering, but Maria could feel the puffs against her neck getting warmer, and she knew that at least the woman’s body wasn’t getting colder.

“Come on, now,” Maria eventually whispered, “We have to get you indoors and warm you up.”

“You could try, Hill,” Romanoff murmured, “But I don’t think I could get any hotter.”

The redhead’s voice was small, but the sass in it was crystal clear. Maria looked down at her to find the Russian’s lips curved up in her classic smirk.

_Damn. I really missed that._

Romanoff had been on this mission – an undercover op – for close to two months now, and Maria realised that she’d _missed_ the redhead. And her flawless quips.

And the tragic part was that the Russian was _right._ She really _couldn’t_ get any hotter.

_She’s got the body of a goddess. And the mind of the Dev–_

“Come _on_ , Hill,” Romanoff pressed on, “You _obviously_ liked what you saw. Why don’t you stop being such a hard-ass and just admit it?”

The Russian wiggled her eyebrows and Maria scoffed at the absolute lack of subtlety. It’s like she already knew that she would win.

Maria stared at her for a couple of seconds, and then tightened her arms around Romanoff. She leaned forward, her lips ghosting above the redhead’s ear, grazing it just a bit, and she heard the woman’s hitched breath.

“I’ll admit it, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, a slight lilt in her voice, “ _When hell freezes over._ ”

She pulled back, hoping to see the Russian’s defeated expression. But Romanoff had a rather smug look on her face.

The redhead slowly, _deliberately_ swept her gaze around their surroundings – the whole damn landscape covered in snow – and then looked back at Maria.

“It already has, though,” Romanoff replied, a brow cocked up, “Hasn’t it?”

_Damned smartass._

Maria wanted to take the banter forward, but Romanoff’s breathing was still a little erratic, and she knew that she had to move the woman to someplace warm. She simply shook her head and stood up, gently pulling Romanoff along with her.

Maria held the redhead’s arm firmly as she steadied herself, and they slowly began walking towards the snowmobile. The shorter woman huddled closer to Maria, her body still shivering a little, and Maria draped an arm around her waist as they trudged forward.

“Whoa, Hill!” Romanoff suddenly yelped, “Your leg… it’s fine!”

The redhead sounded so genuinely happy, Maria simply couldn’t help her smile.

The last time Romanoff had seen her, back on the Helicarrier, before she’d left for her op, Maria had been recovering from two GSWs to her right leg.

And she’d been all but a stumbling mess of limbs then, her cane being the sole thing keeping her from falling face-first. But a month of rigorous physiotherapy had really paid off, and Maria was back on her feet.

“Is it…” Romanoff breathed, looking down at the leg briefly, “Is it really fine now?”

_No._

“Yeah,” Maria smiled back, her voice just a tad gruff, “The cane has officially been relinquished.”

“I knew you couldn’t stay out of the field for too long,” the Russian replied, grinning warmly.

“Wait, is that why you’re here?” Romanoff asked, almost immediately, “Are you on a mission too? Because I didn’t exactly call for the cavalry.”

“ _That’s_ why I’m here, Romanoff,” Maria huffed, somewhat deflecting the question, “You’d gone off the grid – without even _trying_ to contact HQ for backup – and I was the closest to your last known location.”

“Backup would’ve taken too long to get here, Hill,” the Russian retorted instantly, “And I _had_ to complete the op.”

“That’s the crux of the problem,” Maria replied, “You don’t know the difference between a mission that’s _complete_ and one that’s _successful._ ”

Romanoff shot her a confused look, and Maria smiled dryly, “The op’s only a success if you’re _alive_ to celebrate it, Agent.”

The Russian suddenly halted in her tracks, making Maria stop too. Romanoff was looking at her rather strangely, her orbs widening with awe, and Maria couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

“That’s not the way S.H.I.E.L.D. works,” Romanoff said eventually, her voice gentle, “It’s the way _you_ work.”

Maria smirked back at the woman, “Well, lucky for you, Romanoff, because I’m off the clock right now.”

“You’re on _leave?”_ Romanoff said, her expression surprised.

Maria nodded, “I’m on a _holiday.”_

“Who chooses this frigid hellhole as their vacation destination,” the Russian scoffed, “There’s nothing interesting around here.”

“Why do I even need anything interesting,” Maria retorted, rolling her eyes, “When I can simply run into someone as hot-and-happening as you.”

“So, you _do_ think I’m hot,” Romanoff quipped, without losing a beat.

_Dammit._

Maria didn’t offer a reply and the Russian grinned back wickedly.

They resumed walking, reaching the snowmobile soon enough, and Maria grabbed the handle just as she threw a leg over the seat. And Romanoff mirrored the move, taking her place behind Maria.

The redhead’s arms snaked along Maria’s sides, coming over to the front, and she locked her fingers there, resting her hands against Maria’s midsection.

And Maria knew that the woman had done it for practical reasons, to make sure that she didn’t slip off as Maria drove. But she couldn’t help the buzz of warmth within her, the proximity making her heart flutter.

Maria tilted her head and gave the Russian a side glance, “You’re so hot, Romanoff, I’m _actually_ melting _.”_

Romanoff let out a fond chuckle at _finally_ receiving a response – the response she _wanted –_ and Maria turned her head to face the front, hiding her own grin.

The redhead slid forward on the seat, bringing herself closer to Maria, and rested her chin on Maria’s shoulder. Maria could feel the slight tremors from Romanoff’s body, and she knew that the Russian was still feeling cold.

“Now,” Maria said, revving up the engine, “Let’s get your freezing ass out of here.”

* * *

“So, Romanoff, care to explain why you thought of taking a dip in a frozen lake?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I just needed a cold shower?”

“Not sure what this says about you – or about _me –_ but I actually _would_.”

Romanoff laughed behind Maria, but the sound got lost in the air, the strong wind blowing harshly against their bodies while they drove through the wilderness.

Maria stayed quiet after that, her attention focused on weaving past the trees in their way. She had a house at the outskirts of a town far, _far_ away from where they were, at the base of the cliff they were on right now.

“Seriously, Hill?” Romanoff spoke eventually, “There’s _nothing_ else you’d like to know?”

“The snowmobile ain’t stopping even if I do,” Maria replied, grinning even though the woman couldn’t see it, “My orders were clear: find the Widow, no questions asked.”

She turned a little and gave the redhead a brief look, hoping to convey the real message: _you’ll tell me if you want to; I’ll ask you when I need to._

Romanoff let out a soft chuckle, “It’s going to be a long story, Hill.”

“It’s going to be an even longer _ride_ , Romanoff,” Maria replied, still smiling to herself.

The Russian sighed heavily behind Maria and her breath blew onto Maria’s neck, the warmth against the skin remaining for less than a second before the cold took over again.

“Well, the op was supposed to be simple,” Romanoff began, “I was sent as the executive secretary to Jonas Whitaker, to gather intel on his business relations.”

The name rang a bell, and Maria nodded, “He’s the one who became the head of that wealthy conglomerate, right? _Whitaker and Sons_ … _?”_

“Yeah,” Romanoff answered, “He took over a few years back, after his father died. And ever since then, he’s had his finger in every dirty pie out there.”

“Drug rackets, prostitution rings, _organ trafficking_ …” the Russian scoffed, “You name it, and the guy’s got a huge chunk of money invested in it.”

Romanoff’s hands briefly twitched where they were resting against Maria’s midsection, and Maria could feel the woman’s anger.

“And the more information I dug out on him,” the redhead continued, “The more it became clear that he’s basically invincible. Financially _and_ legally.”

“Because the man’s a goddamn _saint_ to the world,” Romanoff bit out, “With the over-the-top philanthropy. Which, by the way, is entirely _fraudulent_.”

“And Whitaker’s not just shrewd, he’s also _smart_ ,” the redhead went on, “He’s got so many shell companies and offshore accounts, you could hardly trace every one of his little side hustles back to him.”

The Russian nearly snarled in vehemence, “You’d take down his whole business empire – the clean one, of course – and he’d still have enough capital to live a luxurious life.”

“The things he’s done, Hill…” Romanoff whispered, “The things he _would have_ done, if he wasn’t stopped…”

The Russian’s tone was almost ominous, and it sent an altogether different kind of chill down Maria’s spine.

“What did you do to the Big Bad Wolf?” Maria said, tilting her head a bit to catch a glimpse of the woman’s expression, “Stage an exposé to get the sheep’s clothing off him?”

“Worse _,”_ Romanoff replied, her voice cold, “ _I killed him.”_

* * *

Maria’s mind was reeling at the revelation, and she opened her mouth to launch her volley of questions.

But her voice was drowned out.

By a gunshot.

Maria’s head instantly snapped towards the path ahead of her, and she saw another snowmobile appear in front of them, heading right towards theirs.

Maria saw the glint of the gun even in the dark, the muzzle pointing directly at her, and she immediately veered her snowmobile towards the right, just as the shooter fired.

Maria managed to dodge the shot, but it still grazed her left side – just beneath her ribcage – as it passed them. The bullet must have gotten embedded in the bark of some tree in the distance behind them, because Maria heard the distinct sound of wood cracking, and she heaved a brief sigh of relief.

_Romanoff hasn’t been hit. She’s fine._

From the corner of her eye, Maria saw the gunman turn his snowmobile – _several_ more joining the pursuit – and she knew that the chase had just begun.

Maria gritted her teeth at the burning pain in her side and increased the speed of her own snowmobile.

“Looks like the wolf managed to send his pack after me,” Romanoff muttered, “A pathetic Hail Mary, I would say.”

_I am so regretting coming up with that metaphor._

“You don’t happen to be armed, do you?” Maria asked, rather rhetorically, her gaze darting around as they flew past the trees.

“ _Yes,_ Hill,” the Russian scoffed back, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Didn’t you find the AK-47 I’d hidden between my legs when you stripped me?”

And Maria growled at the woman’s insolence, even when they were fucking being hounded by shooters.

Ahead of her, there was a brief stretch of the path which was clear, and Maria quickly turned her upper body around in the seat, fully facing the redhead. She left one of the handles of the snowmobile and hooked the same arm around Romanoff’s waist.

In one swift motion, Maria scooped the Russian up and pulled her over to the front, the change in position making Romanoff’s thighs straddle hers as their bodies faced each other.

Maria gave the Russian just one glance before shifting her gaze back to the road, “ _Literally_ all you had to say was no.”

Not bothering to catch the redhead’s expression, Maria promptly fixed her concentration on driving, her hand leaving Romanoff’s hip and grabbing the handle once again. She had to crane her neck a little to see over the redhead’s shoulder, but she could get a proper view of the path ahead.

Romanoff only huffed in response and reached for Maria’s jacket, deducing the reason behind the sudden manoeuvre.

The redhead pulled the zipper down partially, her hands immediately reaching inside the coat to search for the gun she knew Maria had.

The gunshots were still going on from behind them, and Maria figured that the dense foliage and the darkness were making it difficult for the shooters to fire accurately. But Maria wasn’t sure that kind of luck was going to last too long, and she prayed that the Russian would find the weapon fast enough for them to be able to fight back.

Romanoff’s fingers briefly brushed over the wound on Maria’s side, and Maria just barely stifled her wince. In her peripheral vision, she could see the Russian bring the gun out, but the hand holding it was covered in blood.

“ _Dammit,_ Hill,” Romanoff gasped, “You’re –”

“It’s just a graze,” Maria cut her off, not even looking at her.

But the Russian grabbed Maria’s jacket once again, yanking down the zipper some more, probably to see the injury, “No, you’re –”

“ _It’s just a graze,_ Romanoff,” Maria repeated, looking at the redhead’s face for just a second, “Now shut _up,_ and _shoot.”_

And _for once,_ the Russian obeyed. Without talking back.

Romanoff raised her armed hand over Maria’s shoulder and promptly started firing.

The redhead brought herself closer, her free hand curling around Maria’s waist – almost hugging her – as she anchored herself while shooting at the gunmen that were chasing them.

The position would have been intimate – and _inappropriate –_ if they _weren’t_ trying to avoid a shower of bullets, but Maria couldn’t possibly dwell on it right now.

She let herself relax just a bit as she drove and accelerated the snowmobile, hoping that Romanoff would be able to take care of the shooters. The terrain soon changed around them, and Maria knew they had begun the descent down the cliff.

_At least, we’re headed in the right direction._

The Russian emptied the round of bullets and reached into Maria’s jacket once again to grab the second – and the _last –_ clip. She found it quickly and inserted it into the gun, resuming the firing almost instantly.

They soon reached the edge of the forest, and found themselves driving down a winding road, curving around the cliff.

The strip of land was rather narrow – with the body of the mountain on the left and an endless ditch on the right – and Maria gripped the handles tightly, concentrating on making sure she didn’t tip the snowmobile over the side, making them fall to their deaths.

“ _Fuck,”_ Romanoff suddenly muttered, “There’s still two of them left and we have just one bullet.”

_Lovely. Maybe we won’t have to fall into the ravine to die._

“Okay, Hill,” the Russian said, “I need you to make a turn to the left. To _your_ right, I mean.”

 _“What?”_ Maria snapped, her gaze glued to the road, “We could fall off the damn mountain, Romanoff.”

 _“I know,”_ Romanoff replied, “But just do it. Swerve the snowmobile towards the edge, just for a second, and then turn it back.”

Maria tilted her head a bit to glance at the redhead, and she found the woman staring over her shoulder, her eyes probably fixed on the shooters chasing them. Her jaw was squared determinedly, and her gaze was calculating.

And Maria didn’t need any more explanation.

_She knows what she’s doing._

Maria nodded and shifted her eyes back to the road, “Whatever your plan is, Romanoff, you’d better pray that it works.”

Maria could feel the tension in Romanoff’s armed hand as she clutched the gun, and she knew the redhead was just as nervous as she was.

They _literally_ had just one shot at this.

Maria gulped down the apprehension, and then made the turn.

She veered the snowmobile to the right, the sharp spin making the vehicle skid precariously on the ice-covered road. The infinite abyss that was now in front of them kept getting closer – _dangerously_ closer – and Maria turned the snowmobile back towards the road just in time before it drove off the brink of the cliff.

Maria didn’t turn to look behind her, but she heard a blood-curdling scream, the voice becoming fainter by the passing second, followed by the distant sound of a vehicle crashing.

And then Romanoff fired the final shot, without waiting for even a second.

All the noise from earlier – the gunshots, the snowmobiles going at breakneck speeds – ceased after that, and Maria could almost hear her pulse ringing in her ears. She slowed down the snowmobile just a bit, but didn’t stop driving, willing her body to calm down.

“Care to explain what that was?” Maria said, panting as she steadied herself.

“ _That_ , Hill _,_ ” Romanoff rasped, her own voice breathless as well, “Was a classic exhibit of monkey-see-monkey-do.”

“For the love of God, Romanoff,” Maria growled, “Drop the damn metaphors.”

The Russian let out a bark of a laugh before speaking, “ _One of the shooters_ , Hill; he was a little dumber than the rest.”

“The idiot had been _mimicking_ our line of movement,” Romanoff explained, “Turn for turn.”

“ _And,_ he’d been driving rather close to edge of the cliff,” the Russian said, rather conspiratorially, “Whereas _we_ needed him to drive _off_ it…”

“So,” Maria supplied, “You made me turn _our_ snowmobile so that he would turn _his_. And then shot the remaining guy.”

“Genius, aren’t I?” the Russian replied triumphantly.

_She really is._

Maria kept quiet, but she was sure that Romanoff was looking at the smile on her face. The redhead then brought her armed hand down and tucked the gun back into the pocket inside Maria’s jacket, careful of Maria’s wound this time.

And then, instead of retracting the hand, Romanoff simply stayed like that, her other hand also reaching inside Maria’s coat. The redhead snuggled closer, their chests touching each other, and Maria’s heart nearly stopped.

 _She’s hugging me._ Properly _hugging me._

But before she could even try to decipher the move, Romanoff let out a sigh and her head dropped onto Maria’s shoulder.

And the dread was instantaneous.

_Fuck. Has she been hit?_

Maria left one of the handles of the snowmobile, the palm of the same hand immediately roaming over the redhead’s back, searching for the wound. She didn’t find one there, and Maria shifted the hand to Romanoff’s front, inspecting the Russian’s midsection for any wetness.

_Where is it, goddammit?_

Maria extracted the hand from between them, and she was about to stop the vehicle to check the woman properly, when Romanoff suddenly chuckled, her lips right next to Maria’s ear.

And it was the sweetest damn sound ever.

“Keep driving, Hill,” the redhead whispered, “I’m fine.”

Maria involuntarily let out a strangled – yet _relieved –_ sound, “Then why are we… why are _you_ –”

 _“Maybe,”_ Romanoff murmured, her voice low but playful, “I just wanted you to feel me up.”

 _“God,_ Romanoff,” Maria muttered, her mind still reeling, “You’ll be the death of me.”

The Russian instantly tightened the embrace, _“I’m sorry.”_

And Maria’s breath hitched in her throat. She’d never heard Romanoff apologise – _sincerely_ apologise – to anyone, and she couldn’t believe just how soft the woman’s voice was.

And Maria wanted to say something, but she couldn’t find her voice. She simply tilted her head a little, nuzzling her cheek against the Russian’s still-damp hair.

Maria’s heartbeat slowly began to even out, and she shifted her focus back to driving. Romanoff turned her head, away from Maria’s, and clung onto her tighter.

“Do you, uh…” the redhead spoke after a bit, “Do you want to know the rest of the story?”

“The rest of which story?” Maria replied, almost not knowing what she was talking about.

Romanoff exhaled shakily, “Don’t you want to know why I killed Whitaker?”

And Maria was surprised when she found that she really _didn’t_.

The thought from earlier came back to her, and Maria smiled to herself, “I’m sure you knew what you were doing, Romanoff.”

“You always have a reason,” Maria added, chuckling wryly, “No matter how crazy and infuriating it might be.”

The Russian laughed back, “Always enabling me, aren’t you, Agent Hill?”

“What I _mean_ ,” Maria said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “Is that you don’t need to explain yourself. Definitely not to _me._ ”

“But, if you…” Maria paused, unsure if she should continue, “If you want to talk about it, then, uh… there’s still some time till we get home…”

Romanoff turned her head again, almost burrowing it into the crook of Maria’s neck. She breathed in deeply, like she needed to draw strength to speak.

“Earlier today, we’d flown to Alaska,” the redhead began, “Just Whitaker, his bodyguards, and me.”

“He’s got a private research laboratory there,” Romanoff went on, “The scientists there were developing a new variant of maize; the kind that is grown as a staple crop in Africa.”

“But the project wasn’t going so well,” the Russian sighed exhaustedly, “The researchers had essentially found out that the mutant version was actually more _harmful_ than beneficial.”

“But Whitaker wasn’t satisfied,” Romanoff continued, “He’d thrown a lot of money into the venture, and he was desperate for its payback.”

“So, he came up with this insane plan,” the Russian said, “He was going to release the new type anyway, virtually massacring the population of a _whole continent_. And just when the people would start dropping dead like fleas, the pharmaceutical branch of his business would release the antidote.”

Romanoff’s voice was quivering with rage, “Not only would he get back more than _double_ the amount he’d invested, he’d also become a fucking _God_ to the world.”

“But you’d gathered all this intel, right?” Maria interrupted her, “So, why not wait and take it to court?”

The Russian blew out an angry huff, “With his level of wealth and contacts across the globe, he’d be able to silence every judge out there.”

“And I didn’t exactly manage to get a confession,” Romanoff added, “He really had a way with words; it was all a bunch of indirect, implied commands.”

“The information I had would only _allude_ to him being guilty,” the Russian said, shaking her head frustratedly, “It would have taken ages for us to actually prove it, if we ever even _did.”_

“And then what?” Romanoff spat out, “He’d somehow weasel his way out of it and move on to his next crime. He’s the kind of man that just… _never stops.”_

“And, besides,” the redhead added, “I didn’t have a choice this time. Whitaker had _already_ sent out the orders to make the shipment of the toxic crop seeds to almost all the countries in sub-Saharan Africa.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Maria said, gripping the handles of the snowmobile tightly as she tried to not panic, “What did –”

“I managed to stop them,” the Russian cut her off, “All the research at that lab back in Alaska has been terminated.”

“I sent the scientists a memo, earlier tonight, under Whitaker’s name,” Romanoff explained, “We were on his private jet, flying back to one of his offices, in London.”

“But he, uh…” the redhead paused, “He managed to find out…”

Maria’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but her brows furrowed in confusion.

_That doesn’t seem right. She’d never be sloppy enough to allow that…_

And that’s when she realised it.

“You _let_ him find out, didn’t you?” Maria whispered, “You blew your own cover.”

And then the _other_ thought hit her.

“Those blasts that I’d heard earlier tonight…” Maria murmured, “That was the jet crashing, wasn’t it? That’s how you killed him…”

Romanoff nodded against Maria’s neck, “Yeah, I, uh… I’d tampered with the engines a bit; to make it look like a malfunction.”

“But you were on the _same_ plane, Romanoff,” Maria said, the panic in her voice real and immediate, “You could have died right along with him.”

“ _I know_ , Hill,” the Russian replied instantly, “But I had to do _something_ to stop him, once and for all. No matter what the cost.”

Romanoff fisted the fabric of Maria’s shirt, “There was a reason I didn’t contact anyone back at S.H.I.E.L.D…”

And Maria’s heart surged with emotions she just couldn’t comprehend.

_She wasn’t expecting to come back alive._

“How did you…” Maria paused to swallow, trying to rid her throat of the tightness, “How did you escape?”

She kind of knew the answer, and she was almost scared of hearing it from the Russian.

“I, uh… I fell off the jet,” Romanoff mumbled, “I was _thrown_ off it _,_ actually; when Whitaker found out I was a snitch.”

_God, that’s why I found her in that lake. She must have fallen into it._

“The plane must’ve been flying over that lake,” the Russian confirmed, her voice small.

“I’d told the pilot that I’d messed with the engine,” Romanoff went on, “I wanted to give him the chance to save himself. I… I really hope he did.”

“In return,” the Russian sighed tiredly, “He must’ve made sure the plane was flying at a low altitude. That’s probably the only reason I survived the fall.”

“ _Jesus_ , Romanoff,” Maria whispered, her own voice paper-thin.

One of her hands involuntarily left the handle and came up to stroke the redhead’s back.

Maria could hardly fathom the woman’s courage. Careless and ceaseless. Remorseless and regardless. It was outright _outrageous_ , and she didn’t even know it.

“But Whitaker wanted to make sure the deed was complete, I guess,” Romanoff spoke again, “So he must have managed to send his army after us, before the jet went down in flames.”

“Before he died,” the Russian murmured, her voice haunted with guilt, “Before _I_ killed him.”

“You did what you had to do, Romanoff,” Maria said, almost immediately.

_It wasn’t right, but maybe it had to be done._

Sometimes the right way to do things wasn’t the most _just_ way. And choosing the wrong way – despite _knowing_ it – was actually much harder. It took special strength, because there were very few who could carry that burden on their soul.

 _And you’re stronger than even_ you _would ever know._

“You saved thousands of lives,” Maria said, running a soothing hand down the column of the redhead’s spine, “And you gave justice to who knows how many more. That has got to give you some brownie points, in case the universe is keeping score.”

“ _I killed him,_ Hill,” Romanoff said, her voice small but grim, “It doesn’t matter what the score is, when I’m on the same side of the line as he is.”

“But you’re _not,”_ Maria replied instantly, “You’re not like him, because you’re owning up.”

_You’re willing to pay the price. Even if it’s your life._

“And,” Maria added, “As counterintuitive as it may seem, guilt is the first step towards absolution.”

Maria could feel the redhead’s body flinch against hers, as if the words had touched her very soul.

Romanoff’s body was still tense, and Maria just had to do something to lighten the atmosphere. Maria’s eyes were still fixed on the road, but she bent her head a little, her lips nipping the Russian’s ear.

“There are some people who deserve to burn even _on the way_ to hell, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, “And who better than the Devil herself to send them there.”

Romanoff pulled out of the embrace, and Maria looked at her, just long enough for the redhead to see the smirk, and then shifted her gaze back ahead, observing the changing topography around them.

And the Russian’s smile was so wide, Maria could _feel_ it, despite the near sub-zero temperature around them.

Maria took her hand off Romanoff’s back, gripping the handle that she’d left earlier, and the redhead wrapped her arms around Maria once again, hugging her tight.

The Russian shook her head (fondly?) against Maria’s neck, “Look at you, Hill; _literally_ playing the Devil’s advocate.”

And it was Maria’s turn to grin.

_She’s back._

Maria didn’t give the woman any reply, and simply continued smiling as she drove. They’d reached the base of the cliff a while ago, but Maria knew that they were still very far from the town.

She gave their surroundings a glance and then stopped the snowmobile. Leaving both the handles this time, Maria finally returned the hug, her arms tightening around the redhead.

“Whatever happened to the snowmobile not stopping?” Romanoff said, snuggling deeper into the embrace, “What? You decided that you finally wanted to get to first-base?”

 _No,_ Maria wanted to say, _I need you to_ stop _hugging me and taking the brunt of the cold wind in the process._

“ _Maybe,_ Romanoff,” Maria whispered instead, “I just got sick of _you_ feeling _me_ up.”

With that, Maria pulled out of the embrace and held the Russian by her arms. Maria was grinning rather smugly, but Romanoff’s gaze softened, as if she’d understood Maria’s real intention.

The shorter woman wordlessly proceeded to get off the snowmobile and then took her original place, behind Maria.

Once again, Romanoff came closer on the seat, draping her arms around Maria – hugging her from the _back_ , this time – and rested her interlocked hands against Maria’s midsection.

And Maria just had to smile at the Russian’s tactic.

_Why did I ever think I would win against the Widow?_

“You _wish_ you were sick of me, Hill,” Romanoff retorted, _obviously_ smirking that damned way.

“You can’t lie to the Devil, Agent,” the Russian added, her voice lined with mischief, “You _can_ , however, lie _with_ the Devil.”

And Maria sputtered out a breathless laugh at the blatant proposition.

 _Trust the minx to use one of_ my _quips to her own advantage._

Maria only scoffed back and then revved up the engine. The snowmobile soon sped up, and the sound of the wind whipping around them took over once again, the trees zipping past them in blurs.

“So, tell me,” Romanoff spoke after a bit, “Did anything sensational happen back at S.H.I.E.L.D., when I was on my op?”

“Not much _,”_ Maria answered back, and the redhead hummed in response.

“Oh, wait,” Maria said, suddenly remembering it, “Barton’s pregnant. As in his _wife_ is pregnant.”

The Russian let out an offended gasp, “How could he even do that…?”

“Well,” Maria began, barely curbing her laughter at what she was going to say next, “He got into the bed with his wife, and then they did the Devil’s tango. _Several_ times, probably.”

“You should know the drill, Romanoff,” Maria added, giving the woman a side glace, a shrewd half-grin on her lips.

Romanoff laughed behind her, “I meant that he didn’t even _tell_ me.”

“You were _undercover,”_ Maria replied, “How was he even supposed to tell you?”

“He always finds a way,” the redhead scoffed, “Trust me, the number of times I have received emails – with _annoyingly_ many layers of encryption for me to decode – only to find the lamest, most juvenile sex joke in them…”

And this time, Maria couldn’t hold back, and she laughed right along with Romanoff.

“He’d better have a good reason to keep it from me,” the Russian huffed, “Or else that child’s going to grow up fatherless.”

Maria nearly snorted at that. Because Romanoff was _quite_ capable of following through with that threat.

She gave the woman another quick side glance, “Haven’t you had enough talk about killing tonight?”

Maria had kept her voice just light enough for the redhead to know it was a joke. Romanoff blew out a soft chuckle against Maria’s neck, and Maria let herself relax.

The Russian tightened her grip around Maria’s midsection, and they fell silent, the only sound being the howl of the wind around them.

A couple of minutes passed before Romanoff stirred, “Hey, Hill?”

“Yeah?” Maria answered.

She could feel the redhead opening and closing her mouth against her shoulder, like she was contemplating how to proceed.

Romanoff eventually stopped struggling and simply sighed, “Nothing.”

The Russian stayed quiet after that, but Maria had received the unsaid message: _thank you, for everything._

It always managed to surprise her how she and Romanoff were able to have these silent exchanges; the actions – the _gestures_ – often speaking louder than the words themselves.

Maria would never figure out how – or _why –_ she was able to see through the Russian’s devil-may-care attitude (pun so very intended) and read the expressions that the woman tried so hard to hide.

_Or maybe, she lets me read them._

The thought was alluring. And all kinds of _alarming._ Because Maria realised just how much she’d gotten herself caught in the Widow’s web.

And right then, Romanoff disentangled her fingers, her left hand coming up and ghosting over the wound on Maria’s side.

The touch was feather-light, just like the sigh accompanying it, and Maria found herself smiling, even though the redhead couldn’t see it.

The Russian simply entwined her fingers again and rested her cheek on Maria’s shoulder. And even though Maria’s heart was still racing from all the craziness of the night, she could hardly help her grin.

Maria had no clue what the woman’s actions were supposed to mean, but the smile grew even more as she drove through the woods.

She spent the better part of the ride marvelling at how the woman could be so impudent and innocent at the same time.

_I guess, the Devil really was once an angel. In so many ways, she still is._

* * *

It took them another 45 minutes to reach the town.

The night had been nothing but nerve-wracking, and the blood finally stopped rushing in Maria’s ears as they got closer to civilisation.

Maria could see her house coming into the view; a huge snow-covered meadow stretching between them and the back porch. In the next half minute, she drove as close as she could get to the bungalow and then slowed the snowmobile down to a stop.

“Romanoff,” Maria said, nudging the redhead’s hands that were still wrapped around her, “We’re here.”

But Romanoff didn’t pull back, didn’t even respond.

The wind had stopped beating against her now, and Maria could finally feel it properly: the Russian’s body shivering uncontrollably against her back.

Maria turned around on her seat to see the woman’s face, and her breath hitched as she took in Romanoff’s nearly lifeless eyes, her teeth chattering violently. Maria felt the woman’s cheek, and her panic instantly shot up at how cold Romanoff’s skin was.

The woman had been in a goddamn _frozen lake_ earlier that night, _and_ she’d been directly exposed to the cold wind after that. And Maria realised all that had probably aggravated the redhead’s condition.

_I shouldn’t have let her hug me for so long…_

Maria cursed herself for her own negligence, the guilt slicing through her heart. She held the Russian upright with one hand as she got off the snowmobile, and Romanoff whimpered at the loss of contact.

“H-Hill, I…” the redhead murmured, her eyes thin slits, _“I-I’m c-cold.”_

And Maria felt that knife in her heart twist deeper.

She quickly reached for the Russian, taking her into her arms, “No, Romanoff. You’re _hot._ You went to great lengths to make me admit that. _”_

Romanoff tried to laugh, but it made a painful shudder course through her body, and she could only moan in response, her head almost lolling over.

_Dammit, she’s already gotten hypothermia._

It must have set in way before, Maria figured. And pure adrenaline was probably what had kept the Russian going until now. Maria’s heart clenched as she looked at the woman right now, her body boneless and _freezing._

She lifted the redhead off the snowmobile, carrying her bridal style, and Romanoff instantly nestled her face into the crook of Maria’s neck, her body trembling like a leaf. Maria quickly trudged over to the house, ignoring the ache in her side, her steps hurried but smooth, to not jar the Russian too much.

Maria had to struggle for a bit, but she somehow managed to open the door. She kicked it close before shuffling further in and making a beeline for the master bedroom.

The lounge chair in the room was right in front of the fireplace, and Maria briskly walked up to it and deposited Romanoff onto it. She then went over to the wardrobe in the room, her hands already reaching forward to open it and rummage through it.

Maria grabbed a bunch of blankets and rushed back towards the redhead. She promptly proceeded to wrap the duvets around Romanoff’s shivering body, tucking them properly to provide maximum insulation.

Maria then turned around to reach for the kindling beside the fireplace and added the logs of wood to the hearth. She checked whether the damper in the chimney was opened and then lit the top of the stack with a match.

Grabbing the metal poker resting beside the fireplace, she adjusted the pieces of wood, ensuring that the flames spread out properly. The fire soon started growing, and Maria could feel the warmth from it reaching her.

She wheeled around and saw that Romanoff had curled herself into a ball on the chair. Giving the woman a brief look, Maria turned to leave, but the Russian moaned in protest.

The green orbs were suddenly filled with panic, and Maria instantly crouched down beside her, rubbing her knuckles over Romanoff’s cheek.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, “Just… hang in there. _Please.”_

Maria couldn’t have known for sure, but the redhead seemed to nod. Maria stood up, her eyes never leaving Romanoff, her heart aching as she saw the woman’s body shaking helplessly.

In a moment of sheer reflex, Maria bent down and brushed her lips lightly across the Russian’s forehead, as if the kiss was supposed to magically heal the woman. She doubted Romanoff even registered the contact, but the redhead let out a ragged sigh.

Maria straightened herself, curling her hands into fists, and clenched her jaw, willing the determination within her to stay unwavering.

And then, she turned around and walked out of the room, her words to the Russian ringing in her own mind like chants.

_Hang in there, Hill._

* * *

Maria returned to the room within 7 minutes, her eyes immediately searching for the redhead, even as she stirred the drink in the cup she was holding in her hand.

Romanoff was in the same position as before, her head resting against the plush fabric of the chair’s armrest. But she was barely conscious, and her eyes were fighting to stay open. The shivering had gotten lesser, but her breaths were alarmingly slow and shallow, and Maria knew that it wasn’t a good sign at all.

_She’s losing motor functions…_

Which only meant that the hypothermia was advancing.

Maria growled in frustration; she couldn’t even take the woman to a hospital and get her some proper treatment. She’d just checked the driveway of the house, and it was entirely covered in snow. And by the time Maria would clear it, it would be far too late.

_Moreover, she wouldn’t survive the cold outside._

Maria rushed towards the Russian and knelt beside her chair. She nudged the woman’s arm, making her open her eyes wider. Romanoff saw the cup that Maria was holding, and she raised her head off the armrest just a little.

The redhead craned her neck towards Maria’s hand, almost as if she wanted to sniff the contents of the cup. And it would have been the cutest sight ever, if the woman’s condition wasn’t deteriorating rapidly.

“It’s hot chocolate,” Maria hummed, “It should help increase your temperature.”

The Russian looked so delirious, Maria wasn’t sure if she was even comprehending the words. She placed the cup on the floor and then helped Romanoff sit up a little straighter.

Picking the cup off the ground, Maria gathered some of the hot chocolate in the spoon. The liquid was extremely hot, and Maria blew onto it a few times before bringing the spoon near the redhead’s lips. Romanoff opened her mouth and accepted the drink, her features briefly relaxing at the warmth as she gulped it down.

Maria kept feeding the redhead spoonfuls of the hot chocolate, and Romanoff’s breathing began improving, only infinitesimally. The shudders resumed in full force about halfway through the drink, and Maria had to keep reaching forward to wipe the liquid as it trickled out of the redhead’s quivering lips.

The woman’s misery was just so abject, it absolutely broke Maria’s heart.

The hot chocolate soon got over, but Romanoff was still shivering violently, and Maria felt her dread growing. The woman’s organs were going to start failing one by one, if her temperature didn’t rise fast. But _nothing_ seemed to be working to make that happen, and Maria had tried all damn cures out there.

_All except for one…_

Maria squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head at her own helplessness. She couldn’t believe that _this_ was how she would –

“H-Hill,” Romanoff suddenly murmured, making Maria open her eyes and look up, _“P-please…”_

The redhead couldn’t get herself to say anything else; her eyes dim, but desperate. And Maria’s breath got caught in her throat. This was the _Black Widow,_ frail and utterly powerless, _pleading_ before her. And Maria just couldn’t bear it.

For a brief second, she wondered if this was fate’s twisted way of righting the karmic balance. Wondered if this was some kind of a punishment for Romanoff, for giving Whitaker his flying funeral.

_She burnt the man alive, and now she’s freezing to death herself._

The justice was poetic to a _petrifying_ extent.

But Maria felt her hesitation melting away; the need to help the Russian overpowering every other thought. She knew she’d never be able to live with it if she didn’t try every possible option to save the woman. Especially not under these circumstances.

_Of all the things, hypothermia cannot be what kills the Widow._

She gave Romanoff’s trembling form another glance, her hand rising on its own accord to touch the Russian’s face. Maria slid her thumb down the redhead’s jaw, rubbing slow circles on the woman’s cold skin. 

And then, Maria exhaled heavily and reached for the zipper of her own jacket, pulling it down ever so slowly, her eyes gazing deep into the Russian’s dull orbs.

_I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me for this._

But more than that, Maria hoped to God that it would _work_.


	2. The Knight in My Heart

#### The Widow

Natasha woke up the next morning and realised two things: she was warm, and she couldn’t move.

And she was in a bed.

Oh, also, she was naked. _Buck_ naked.

And she _badly_ needed to pee _._

Okay, so Natasha realised _several_ things as she blinked her eyes blearily, taking in her surroundings.

She found herself enveloped in many blankets; her limbs snugly pressed against the duvets. The position was incredibly cosy, but her bladder was screaming otherwise, and she quickly extracted herself from the cocoon.

The room was empty apart from her, but Natasha didn’t stop to mull over it and hurried towards the washroom, a dozen paces away from the bed. The counter beside the basin was stocked with all the essential toiletries and Natasha smiled as she washed her hands after relieving herself.

She freshened up and swept her gaze around, checking out the rest of the washroom, and she saw a bathrobe hanging by one of the hooks, right outside the shower cubicle. And Natasha proceeded to walk over to it; the thought of the nice, hot water enticing her. Her entire _existence_ was exhausted from yesterday’s ordeal(s), and Natasha needed to get rid of the soreness.

The water hit her face, and the events of the night started coming back to Natasha. She could still sense Hill’s touch, ghosting over her skin wherever the drops of water ran down her body.

Natasha had barely been conscious during the night, but she’d never forget the way the woman had held her, veneration clear in her each ministration.

Hill’s body was hard and toned; her fingers rough and calloused from years of training. And yet, the feeling of her hands roving of Natasha’s skin – ever so delicately – had been _unbelievable;_ the heat in them thawing the icy jaws of death that Natasha had been caught in _._

And Hill’s voice had been a whole other level of soothing. Natasha remembered the faint reassurances of _it’s-going-to-be-okay_ that had sounded more like prayers; the gentle cadence of the brunette’s voice washing over her. _Healing_ her.

_And those blue eyes…_

Deep and determined, but equally _desperate_.

Almost as if it had been _her_ life that’d been draining away.

_It might as well have been…_

Natasha ended her pleasant – if still poignant – musing and stepped out of the shower, her hands reaching for the towel to dry herself. She grabbed the bathrobe and wore it, tying its knot over her midsection as she exited the washroom.

She walked over to the bed and saw an assortment shopping bags resting at the edge of the mattress. Natasha checked them and found that they contained a variety of clothes – including undergarments – all in her size. She was pretty sure that the bags hadn’t been there when she’d woken up, and her grin grew incurably wide.

Natasha gave the bags a single glance and simply proceeded to stalk out of the room, eager to look for the woman herself.

_She has already seen everything._

There was nothing Natasha could hide from her. Nothing Natasha _wanted_ to hide from her.

* * *

It was a rather large house, Natasha realised, but she found Hill quite quickly. Turned out, the brunette was in the room just a few doors beside Natasha’s.

The bed in here was almost queen-sized, and Natasha knew that this was _specifically_ Hill’s room, given the shelf near the bed filled with books. There was a towel strewn over the mattress, and Natasha figured that the brunette had probably just taken a shower too.

And the woman herself was standing by the mirror, her back facing Natasha. Hill’s recently dried hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she was just in pants and her bra.

And Natasha was _finally_ able to see the taller woman’s abs.

( _Finally,_ as in when Natasha _wasn't_ half-dead, and her mind and body _weren't_ numb with cold.)

And weren’t _they_ a sight to behold, despite being only partially visible in the brunette’s reflection in the mirror.

Natasha merely leaned against the door, openly ogling Hill’s lean figure. The cheeky greeting was at the tip of her tongue, but _for once,_ Natasha didn’t say it.

_She’s so much more than just hot stuff._

Hill had noticed her presence, but her attention was focused on her task as she patched up the wound along her side, right below her last rib.

Their gazes eventually met in the mirror, and the taller woman arched up an eyebrow, “You going to keep staring, Romanoff?”

Natasha didn’t answer her yet and walked over to her. Hill turned around to face her just as Natasha reached her, that familiar lopsided grin tugging on her lips. But Natasha only ducked her head and brushed the taller woman’s hands away from her injury.

She took the medical supplies from Hill and then continued where the brunette had left off, applying the antiseptic cream over the jagged skin. The taller woman didn’t question her and stayed quiet the whole time as Natasha worked on the wound.

Natasha finished taping up the injury before looking up at Hill, and she found the brunette studying her intently. The fatigue was evident across Hill’s features, and Natasha knew she hadn’t gotten much sleep the earlier night.

But the blue eyes were as bright as ever; her gaze keen and kind at the same time.

“It’s only fair that I get to _see,_ Hill,” Natasha began, her voice filled with faux solemnity, “Considering that you got to do a _lot more_ last night.”

And the taller woman flinched violently, as if the words – the _accusation_ in them _–_ physically ripped through her heart.

_Dammit, I shouldn’t have said that._

“That’s not what… I only…” Hill stuttered, her eyes scrunching close, “ _Nothing happened_ , Romanoff. I didn’t _do_ any–”

“Hey,” Natasha stopped her, unable bear the woman’s torment, “I know.”

Hill opened her eyes, but the orbs were fractured and stormy; self-loathing swirling in them. The taller woman exhaled shakily and then hung her head, not meeting Natasha’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Romanoff,” the brunette murmured, her voice agonisingly small, “I… I never wanted to be one of those people who… who _touched_ you without –”

 _“I know,”_ Natasha repeated, her own voice just above a whisper.

But Hill’s shoulders sagged defeatedly, and Natasha couldn’t tolerate it anymore. She brought her hand up and hooked a finger under the taller woman’s chin, tilting her head up.

“Look at me, Hill,” Natasha said, her voice soft despite the order, “You _aren’t_ one of them.”

She drilled her gaze firmly into the brunette’s eyes, willing the woman’s remorse away. The life slowly started returning to Hill’s orbs, and she gave Natasha a small smile.

And Natasha returned a much wider one: _you could never be one of them, even if you tried._

With that, Natasha reached for the knot of her bathrobe and pulled it loose, her eyes never leaving Hill’s.

Natasha continued staring into the taller woman’s sapphires as she pushed aside the lapels of the robe, exposing her bare chest to the brunette, giving her whatever permission she thought she needed.

But the blue orbs didn’t move, didn’t even flicker.

Hill kept looking into Natasha’s eyes, her own gaze softening almost infinitely. And Natasha’s heart nearly stopped at the ocean of devotion in them.

“Seriously, Hill?” Natasha all but croaked, “Not even a peep?”

The taller woman’s gaze mellowed even more, somehow, and she smiled, “You should know by now, Romanoff, that I can differentiate _curiosity_ from _necessity._ ”

It was a winning response, no doubt. But Natasha didn’t want to back down.

“But you _want_ to,” Natasha said, the challenge clear in her tone, “You _want_ to look at them.”

_Come on, Hill. Prove me right, like you always do._

“They’re sharp, they’re stunning, and they’re so damn _sexy_ ,” Hill replied, her voice a delectable whisper, her orbs scanning Natasha’s as she spoke.

And then, the brunette bent down a little, bringing her face closer to Natasha’s, their eyes _still_ locked together, “ _And I’m looking at them.”_

And Natasha wanted to kiss her. _Needed_ to kiss her, like she was the very elixir of life.

But she didn’t. Because this was way more than just physical. The moment was intimate to a _sacred_ degree, and Natasha couldn’t taint it. Couldn’t even _touch_ it.

It was proving hard to hold back, though, because Hill was still looking at her in that heated-but-somehow-gentle way that always made Natasha want to –

“Get dressed,” the taller woman spoke, straightening herself, “I believe I’ve given you ample options to choose from.”

“I don’t see why I should,” Natasha retorted, “I can’t seem to impress you even without anything on.”

“Oh, I _am_ impressed,” Hill whispered, giving her a smouldering smirk, “But no more than I already _was.”_

 _Oof, the smooth talker._

The taller woman then reached for the lapels of the bathrobe and proceeded to tie the knot, covering Natasha’s torso, her gaze fixed on Natasha’s face the whole time.

“Well, now _I’m_ impressed, Hill,” Natasha scoffed, “People usually don’t stay unaffected after seeing the Widow in her full glory.”

“Why is it so surprising?” Hill retorted, a half-grin on her lips, “You just said it: I’m not one of them.”

_Damn, she’s really killing it with the perfect replies._

“I don’t know, Hill,” Natasha said, leaning closer to the brunette, “Maybe if I try a little harder, I could get you to fold.”

The taller woman stared at her for a few seconds, and then suddenly grabbed the lapels of Natasha’s robe. She yanked at them, pulling Natasha closer, her eyes boring into Natasha’s.

The lieutenant had never done anything like this before, and Natasha was positively turned _on._

_Holiday Hill is kinky._

The taller woman clenched the fabric tighter in her fists, “I just spent the morning shovelling _5 inches_ of snow off the gateway so that I could drive out and get you those clothes.”

The action was _hot_ , but the words were what made Natasha’s insides buzz with warmth.

“So, now, Romanoff,” Hill continued, her voice gruff but her gaze gentle, “ _Go. And. Get. Dressed._ That’s an order, Agent.”

“Why’d you get me so many clothes, anyway?” Natasha asked, the question genuine despite her smirk, “Just a single pair would’ve sufficed.”

The hands fisting the lapels loosened and Hill stepped back, leaving the robe altogether. And Natasha was almost sad at the distance between them.

“I, uh…” the brunette began, “I didn’t really ask you before taking _off_ your clothes – _twice –_ yesterday. So, I thought you at least deserved to choose the clothes that you’d actually _wear_.”

And this time, Natasha couldn’t resist it.

She came forward and rose on her toes, bringing her face closer to Hill’s, and placed a chaste kiss on the taller woman’s cheek.

Natasha could simply turn her face a little and capture the brunette’s lips, but she didn’t, and stayed in the same position.

She smiled against the taller woman’s skin, “Thank you, Hill.”

_For everything that you do and don’t do._

Natasha rested back on her heels and found Hill staring at her, the blue orbs filled with wonder. The taller woman’s hand came up and she touched her own cheek absently, like she couldn’t believe that the contact had actually happened.

The move was so innocent, it took Natasha’s breath away.

She somehow gathered herself and smiled wickedly at the brunette, “But you shouldn’t have bothered getting the snow cleared.”

Hill’s forehead knitted together in question, and Natasha raised her hand to trail her fingers down the taller woman’s abs.

“I’m not the only one hot enough to make stuff melt,” Natasha whispered, winking at the brunette.

And the taller woman immediately ducked her head, the shy smile on her lips still visible to Natasha.

_There’s the Hill that I know. Hard-ass-but-still-humble-as-hell._

The brunette looked up soon enough, her gorgeous eyes sparkling. Natasha flashed her an impish grin, and Hill simply shook her head fondly.

And then, Natasha whirled around and proceeded to leave the room. She stopped just as she reached the door and turned her face a bit, giving Hill a side glance.

“Also, I should mention,” Natasha said, “I don’t take orders from agents who are on leave.”

With that, Natasha untied the knot of her bathrobe once again, letting it slide entirely off her body this time.

She waited till the apparel pooled by her feet and then strutted out of the room, the grin on her lips wider than the sway of her hips.

* * *

Natasha took far too long to choose her outfit, and by the time she came out of the room, it was almost past lunchtime.

She also realised that she must have _woken up_ late in the first place, which had delayed the rest, and she hurriedly followed the faint clatter coming from the kitchen, feeling bad for making Hill wait. She passed the dining table on the way and paused, her eyes scanning the dishes already placed on the table.

Natasha saw the large bowl of pasta and she nearly salivated, realising just how hungry she was. There was also a pot of soup, and a basket filled with olive oil rolls – the Italian kind – beside it, and Natasha’s eyes widened at the elaborate meal Hill had whipped up.

“Those buns are _hot_.”

Natasha heard the brunette’s voice, and her hand froze mid-air, right above the basket of rolls. She turned around to look at Hill, and saw the woman – no longer shirtless, sadly – smirking at her.

 _She’s_ obviously _talking about the bread._

The taller woman didn’t say anything after that and walked towards her, placing the plates and cutlery that she was carrying onto the table once she’d reached. And Natasha waited for the other shoe to drop.

But Hill let her stew, arranging the stuff over the table for a while before finally facing her, the lopsided grin back on her lips.

The taller woman winked at her, “And so are _yours_.”

And Natasha chuckled breathlessly, _pleasantly_ surprised at the brunette’s boldness. Hill gave her a once-over, her eyes crinkling with a smile as she noticed Natasha’s choice of clothes.

“I didn’t think you’d go for the grey shirt,” the taller woman said, grinning full-on, “But the light colour really suits you.”

And Natasha nearly blushed like a silly schoolgirl.

“I could give you dark too, Hill,” Natasha said, her voice a sultry whisper, “I’ve got the black lingerie underneath.”

Hill swallowed forcefully, her eyes widening just a little, and Natasha knew the woman was looking at the smirk – the _sinful_ smirk – on her lips.

But the brunette soon recovered from her daze, “In case you haven’t caught on yet, I happen to have a no-nudity rule in my house.”

“So, the clothes _stay on,”_ Hill said emphatically, “If you want to have lunch.”

Natasha gave her a mock-salute, and the lieutenant shook her head at the antics. Natasha took a step towards the woman, her hand reaching for the collar of Hill’s white shirt, tugging her closer.

“Just so you know,” Natasha murmured, a small grin on her lips, “You should wear light colours too.”

_They really bring out your eyes._

Then again, _anything_ the brunette wore brought out her eyes.

Hill’s smile instantly turned coy, and she ducked her head. And Natasha found herself already missing the beautiful blue orbs.

The taller woman looked up soon enough, and Natasha raked her gaze over her figure, “And did I mention the buns in _your_ pa _–”_

 _“Okay,”_ Hill all but squeaked, and Natasha wiggled her eyebrows diabolically at the brunette’s flustered look.

“Now,” the taller woman said, clearing her throat, “I know that we’re both famished, but we need to take care of something first.”

Hill brought her phone out from her pocket and Natasha instantly understood.

She still hadn’t gotten into touch with HQ, and she was sure that Fury would be eager to hear an explanation for her flagrant disregard for protocol.

And for the _literal_ crime that she’d committed.

Hill seemed to catch on her nervousness, and she held Natasha’s arm, her grip gentle and grounding.

“I have no idea how bad things are back at the Helicarrier,” the brunette began, “But news about Whitaker’s death has been flashing on every channel out there, so I’m sure Fury knows.”

Natasha shut her eyes briefly before opening them, “It’s fine, Hill. I’m prepared to face the consequences, whatever they might be.”

“I know, Romanoff,” Hill replied, her gaze soft.

“But, I, uh…” the brunette paused, scratching the back of her neck somewhat anxiously, “I wanted to try something.”

“I’m not sure if it’ll even work,” Hill added, shrugging weakly, “I… you…”

The taller woman was clearly struggling to explain whatever her idea was, and Natasha placed a hand over the brunette’s, “Okay.”

Hill looked at her confusedly, and Natasha blinked back slowly: _I trust you._

“Do you need me to do anything?” Natasha asked, smiling at her.

“No, actually, I need you to do _nothing,”_ the brunette replied, “As in, don’t speak _at all_ when I call Fury.”

Natasha hadn’t expected that answer, but she simply nodded. Hill returned it and then brought up her phone and dialled in the number. The call started ringing and the brunette put the device on speaker.

“What part of find-the-Widow-and-report-back-to-me did you _not_ understand, Agent Hill?”

The Director’s tone was harsh and menacing, and Natasha winced on the lieutenant’s behalf.

“You must have heard about Whitaker, Sir,” Hill began, sidestepping Fury’s jab, “You must have also guessed that it was the Widow’s doing.”

“ _Yes, obviously,”_ the Director replied impatiently, his scoff audible over the call, “Now, answer me, is Romanoff there right now?”

The taller woman’s gaze darted towards Natasha for a second, “Romanoff and I aren’t together, Sir.”

Natasha’s eyebrows rose at that, but she stayed quiet.

“ _Goddammit_ , Hill,” Fury muttered, “Are you telling me –”

“I didn’t find her at the location of the plane crash,” Hill cut him off, “It was too far beyond the mountains for me to get there.”

“Romanoff might have escaped,” the lieutenant went on, “But we can’t say for sure; the news reports don’t mention who all were on the jet before it exploded.”

“The authorities couldn’t ID anyone, apparently,” the brunette explained, “The remains of the bodies found at the site were far too charred to perform any kind of forensic study on them.”

Hill looked towards Natasha, her eyebrows raised emphatically, “The pilot had figured out the fault in the engines, and he managed to escape using a parachute, before the aircraft malfunctioned.”

Natasha felt a sense of peace at the new information, and she flashed the taller woman a tiny smile.

“The authorities found him,” Hill resumed, “He was the one who reported the incident. That’s the only way they were able to know that the plane belonged to Whitaker.”

“But the reports say that the pilot wasn’t sure how many people were onboard,” the lieutenant finished with a sigh.

The Director stayed quiet – _deathly_ quiet – after that, almost as if he was mourning.

Natasha looked at the taller woman and raised an eyebrow: _what are you trying to do?_

Hill responded with a feeble shrug that clearly said that she wasn’t sure herself.

“I believe that Romanoff sent back a lot of intel, though,” the taller woman eventually spoke, “About Whitaker’s latest plan…? Before she went off the grid…?”

Fury sighed heavily at the other end, “Yes, that and the information we already had on him had made us move him up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hit-list.”

Natasha’s head snapped towards Hill, and she found similar shock written all over the brunette’s face.

_What, now?_

“I was going to order Romanoff to do the job, actually,” the Director clarified, the frustration evident in his tone, “Or maybe we’d have had an independent mission to take him out.”

Fury blew out an angry huff at the other end, “If only Romanoff had goddamn _contacted_ us before taking things into her own hands…”

“So,” Hill said, her voice hopeful, “If Romanoff were to come back to S.H.I.E.L.D., she wouldn’t, say, be _incarcerated,_ or anything?”

And Natasha finally understood the lieutenant’s plan, the realisation hitting her like a bus.

_She was going to let me run, if things had gone south on this call…_

Natasha could hardly believe what Hill was doing for her. Could hardly believe what the woman _had been_ doing for her, all the while, really.

Natasha flashed the brunette a thankful smile and Hill returned it, both of them waiting for Fury’s response. 

The Director stayed silent for a long time, and Natasha knew he was sifting through the chinks that the lieutenant had intentionally slipped into her words.

“No,” Fury answered, eventually, “She wouldn’t be jailed for killing a man whose rap sheet is _several miles_ long, with crimes ranging from insider trading to bloody _genocide._ ”

“I’m confident that the governments of _many_ countries wanted him dead,” the Director went on, “But they obviously couldn’t do it _themselves_. They’d probably thank the Widow for her service.”

“ _And_ ,” Fury added, “If Romanoff were to return, I’d tell her the same thing I’m telling you right now: at S.H.I.E.L.D., we need not be doing what’s _right_ all the time _,_ but we _always_ do what’s _necessary_.”

And Natasha grinned as she looked at the taller woman: _he knows._

“You might not have to tell her, Sir,” Hill replied, her eyes fixed on Natasha, “Maybe Romanoff knows that already.”

The Director let out a gruff chuckle at the other end, “Then Romanoff should also be aware that the paperwork for her stunt is going to be an absolute _pain_.”

“I’m sure you’ll give her hell,” Hill laughed back, “ _When_ she comes back.”

And Natasha could almost picture Fury shaking his head, his eye glimmering with fondness despite his poker face.

“Get your asses back to the Helicarrier as soon as you can, Agents.”

As usual, the Director cut the call without waiting for a reply, and they looked at each other, both heaving sighs of relief.

Natasha let a few calm seconds pass before speaking, “I didn’t know you had it in you to lie through your teeth like that, Hill. Especially to your _superior_ officer.”

“What can I say, Romanoff,” Hill replied, her eyes shimmering with mirth, “The Devil made me do it.”

Natasha could hardly stifle her chuckle at that, and Hill joined her soon enough.

“Besides,” the taller woman said, once the laughter had fizzled out, _“None_ of the statements I made were actually lies. Not in the strictest sense.”

Natasha went over the whole exchange in her mind, and she realised that Hill was right.

“What about the part where you said that I wasn’t with you?” Natasha asked after a bit.

“I said that we weren’t _together,”_ Hill pointed out smugly, “And we _aren’t,_ are we?”

And the brunette was right, yet again. Because they weren’t “together” together.

And Natasha was all but stumped. By the meticulous way Hill had twisted her words; lying truthfully, _morally_.

It was a craft, really, what the taller woman had pulled off. And yet, she made it look so effortless; it blew Natasha’s mind.

She smiled fondly at the brunette, “Why’d you do it, though?”

_Why do you keep bailing me out?_

“I know the value of my agents, Romanoff; specially the finest ones,” Hill replied, her own grin soft, “And I prefer not losing them, one way or the other.”

It was just the principle the lieutenant lived by.

_So simple, yet, so sublime._

Natasha didn’t even try to hide the awe in her voice, “You really would do anything for the team, wouldn’t you?”

“The same way you’d do anything for the mission,” the taller woman answered instantly.

“That’s a killer combination,” Natasha said, raising her chin boldly, “Isn’t it?”

We’re _a killer a combination, together._

But Hill’s smile faltered just a bit, “It’s a _fatal_ combination.”

Natasha couldn’t figure out the reason behind the sudden change in the brunette’s expression, and she studied the woman carefully.

“Anyway,” Hill said, clearing her throat, “Now that all that’s out of the way, I believe we were talking about buns.”

“Right,” Natasha smirked, accepting the cover-up, “And I think they were _hot_ buns.”

“Being nit-picky, are we?” the brunette grinned back.

Natasha brought herself closer to the taller woman, tilting her head to look into Hill’s blue eyes.

The orbs that were always looking _out_ for her, without even looking _at_ her.

“It’s only natural, Hill,” Natasha whispered, smirking deviously, “You proved it yourself just earlier: the Devil really _is_ in the detail.”

* * *

_Oh, yeah, they’re just the perfect size._

Natasha grinned to herself at how well they fit in her hands; small but firm.

They were out on the driveway, and Hill’s attention was still fixed on locking the door of the house. And Natasha crossed her hands behind her back, hiding the snowballs in them from the brunette’s view.

After their lunch, they’d spent the afternoon binge watching James Bond movies (who knew Hill was a fan?), and Natasha had suggested going out for the evening. It had been a lot of fun indoors, but Natasha had wanted some fresh (if still frigid) air.

“So, Agent,” Natasha said, just as the taller woman turned around, “We discussed all of 007’s mission, but we didn’t talk about any of _yours._ Or, rather, the lack thereof. _”_

Hill quirked up an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“You were supposed to be assigned to desk work for just 4 weeks, right?” Natasha said, “But it’s been close to two months since that, and your leg seems fine. And yet, you haven’t had any missions…”

Hill’s eyes flickered, and she almost averted her gaze. And Natasha observed the taller woman, trying to read into her hesitation.

When Natasha had left for her own op, almost 2 months ago, Hill had been on a medical leave, recuperating from the injuries – two GSWs – on her leg.

But Natasha had been confident that the lieutenant would bounce back to action as soon as possible. Which was why she was surprised when Hill had unintentionally let it slip earlier that she hadn’t been on any ops.

The brunette eventually shrugged, “I guess, there were no missions that required me to be in the field.”

Natasha didn’t buy it at all, but she didn’t pry, sensing the darkness in Hill’s expression.

“Okay, then,” Natasha said, grinning slyly, “But you’ve been out of commission for too long, so we need to check if your reflexes are still any good.”

And before the taller woman could even register the words, Natasha brought one hand forward and threw the snowball at Hill.

And the lieutenant reacted instantly, sidestepping out of the projectile’s way. But Natasha had predicted that, and she didn’t waste even a millisecond before bringing her other hand ahead and launching the _second_ snowball at the brunette.

Hill didn’t see _this_ one coming, and the snowball caught her right in her chest, the ice scattering on impact, some of the flecks splattering across the brunette’s jaw.

And the lieutenant’s shell-shocked expression – her mouth gaping open, her eyes wide – was utterly _priceless._

Hill regrouped soon enough and bent down to grab some snow, “Oh, you’re _so_ going to pay, Romanoff.”

Natasha immediately wheeled around to bolt, and she’d taken just one step when she was stopped by a sharp gasp behind her.

Natasha turned around and saw the taller woman frozen in her spot, the hand holding the snow suspended in the air; her features suddenly strained and her jaw clenched. The snowball slipped from Hill’s hand and she staggered a little, like she wasn’t being able to maintain her balance.

Natasha saw the taller woman’s legs about to buckle, and she immediately rushed towards her, catching her before she fell.

And Hill all but sank against her, unable to support her own weight, her breaths against Natasha’s ear heavy and ragged.

_Dammit, she’s in pain…_

Natasha wrapped her arms around the brunette’s midsection, helping her stand, “Hill, you –”

“I’m fine,” the taller woman rasped, her voice strangled, “I… I’ll _be_ fine.”

“Till then, just…” Hill croaked, her chin falling onto Natasha’s shoulder, “Just hold me, _please…_ ”

Natasha’s heart broke at the request, and she wordlessly obeyed, tightening her grip around the taller woman, holding her upright as they hugged.

Her mind was reeling, though, as she tried to figure out the source of the abrupt pain. Because Natasha was sure that the brunette had been completely okay just a minute ago.

And then she suddenly remembered their exchange last night. When she’d asked Hill if her leg was fine. Natasha had seen a similar flicker in the blue orbs. And sure enough, she could feel the slight tremors against her thigh, where she and Hill were touching.

The taller woman’s breaths soon evened out and she tried to pull out of the embrace, but Natasha didn’t let her.

“Your leg, Hill…” Natasha whispered, “It still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Hill sighed tiredly, “It doesn’t… until it does.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, her own voice quivering.

“The pain is intermittent,” the taller woman replied, “The leg is usually fine, but when it hurts…”

Hill paused for a few seconds, shaking her head against Natasha’s, and then chuckled mirthlessly, “It really hurts like the Devil.”

Tears involuntarily sprang to Natasha’s eyes, in spite of the pun. Her hand rose without her volition, and she stroked the taller woman’s back comfortingly.

“The doctors say it’s because of some lasting nerve damage,” Hill went on, “And that the pain could go away, eventually. But they aren’t sure.”

“Have you tried any medication?” Natasha said, her tone desperate.

“It doesn’t help when the pain is so sporadic,” Hill answered, her own voice defeated, “It’s been almost two months, and I still can’t guess when the damn leg will start hurting…”

“Is that…” Natasha choked out, “Is that why you haven’t been out in the field all this while?”

“Yeah,” the taller woman replied, “I couldn’t take the risk.”

“It happened during a snowball fight right now,” Hill added, “It could be a _gun_ fight, next time.”

“I…” the brunette paused, breathing deeply, “I’d be a ticking time bomb on any mission. And I could never put the team in that kind of danger…”

Hill stayed quiet after that, but Natasha could sense a strange kind of dejection from the woman. Like she’d just completely given up.

And that’s when Natasha got it.

Why the brunette was on leave. Why she’d chosen this frozen small town as her “vacation” destination.

“This isn’t a holiday, is it?” Natasha whispered, “Hill, are you… are you thinking of _quitting_ S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad thought,” Hill mumbled, “If I can’t take any responsibility, then I sure as hell don’t want to be a liability.”

As humbled as Natasha was by the response, she still wanted to hit the woman.

“It’s an _idiotic_ thought, Agent,” Natasha muttered, “Because it wouldn’t work.”

“You’re a soldier, Hill,” Natasha continued, “You were born to fight, and you’d _never_ walk away from one. You proved that yesterday.”

Hill huffed indignantly against her neck, but Natasha wasn’t done, “You said you were the closest to my location, but you weren’t – in _any_ way – _close_ to it.”

“And yet,” Natasha whispered, “You came there to help me.”

“You knew your leg could’ve hurt,” Natasha added, “But you still came there nevertheless.”

“And even if you leave S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natasha went on, “You’d still be fighting. With _yourself.”_

_Because you’re just not programmed to stand and watch. You’re the shield, and your place is on the battlefield._

“Now, either you could do _that,”_ Natasha said, smiling despite herself, “Or you could fight with _me.”_

She turned her face a little, her lips grazing the brunette’s ear, “Because I would _love_ whooping your ass in the sparring ring.”

And Hill laughed outright at that, the sound tinkling in Natasha’s ear.

If she was being honest, Natasha couldn’t imagine what the Helicarrier would be without the lieutenant. In their world, where _results-are-what-matter_ was the prevalent way of life, Hill was one of the few people who cared about the _people._

“You need S.H.I.E.L.D., Hill,” Natasha breathed, “And S.H.I.E.L.D. needs _you_.”

Hill’s body instantly relaxed, and she blew out a soft sigh against Natasha’s neck.

It was really the most effective argument, Natasha realised. Pain or no pain, the lieutenant would _always_ be there, if anyone needed her.

“Thank you, Romanoff,” the taller woman murmured eventually, “For not letting me go.”

And Natasha could hardly help her smile. Because she knew Hill meant that in more ways than just one. She smiled, because she knew that she’d changed the lieutenant’s mind.

They pulled apart and Natasha saw her own grin mirrored on the taller woman’s face. Hill gave her a grateful – an _unnecessarily_ grateful _–_ nod, and they began walking towards the brunette’s car.

Natasha’s eyes lit up as she saw the Chevrolet SUV, and she turned to look at the taller woman, “Can I drive?”

“Why?” Hill replied, her voice playful, “You don’t trust me to not crash the car?”

Natasha smirked back, “Maybe I just want to _take you to town_ , Hill.”

She wiggled her eyebrows wickedly, and Hill shook her head. But the brunette produced the car keys and then tossed them at Natasha. Natasha caught them, all but _skipping_ as she made her way towards the car.

And she’d just reached the driver’s seat when she heard the soft call behind her, “Romanoff…?”

She turned around and found the brunette in a crouched position, her head bowed. Natasha’s mind went into overdrive and she was about to rush back towards the woman when Hill suddenly looked up.

And Natasha had just enough time to catch the grin on the brunette’s lips before the snowball hit her smack in her torso.

“Damn, Hill,” Natasha huffed, dusting off the snow, “Where’s the honourable soldier who always fights fair?”

“She’s on a holiday,” Hill replied, standing up.

_Touché, Hill._

“You’ll meet her _tomorrow,”_ the taller woman added, “When we start driving back to New York.”

Natasha flashed her a radiant smile, and Hill returned it instantly. The brunette walked up to the car, and they took their seats. Natasha revved up the engine while Hill fiddled with the radio, and the sound of the classic AC/DC song soon filled the car.

Hill tried to change the channel, but Natasha held her hand, stopping her. The brunette turned to look at her, and Natasha shot her the most _infernal_ grin she could manage.

“You’re riding with the Devil, Hill,” Natasha said, wiggling her eyebrows, “It has _got_ to be a highway to hell.”

* * *

“Have you ever had a White Russian?”

Natasha maintained a poker face as she asked the question, but Hill’s eyes instantly narrowed.

They’d just had dinner and they were at a cute pub in the town, not ready to go back home just yet. They still hadn’t ordered their drinks, and there were about a _million_ senior citizens in line ahead of them.

Hill crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze cold and clinical, and Natasha could almost hear the gears in her mind turning.

_She knows it’s a trick question._

“Nope,” the taller woman eventually spoke, “Too scared of getting disappointed.”

_A perfectly ambiguous answer. Nice move, Hill._

“You’d never know without trying, Hill,” Natasha purred, thrusting her chest out towards the brunette just a little bit.

“You’re quite right, Romanoff,” Hill whispered, cocking up an eyebrow, “What do you say, should we give it a go tonight?”

They entered a fierce staring match, blue eyes clashing with green. And Natasha would never know how many millennia had passed before the taller woman’s gaze darted towards something beside them.

“A White Russian for me,” Hill spoke – to the bartender, Natasha realised – and then turned to look at Natasha, “And she’ll have…?”

“Vodka,” Natasha nearly squeaked, making the brunette smirk, “Vodka, neat.”

Their orders were served soon enough, and they walked back to find a table for themselves, taking a sip from their drinks as they sat down. 

And between the tall glass of vodka and the taller woman, Natasha couldn’t decide which one was more intoxicating.

* * *

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“You’re fingers are long and thin, Hill. You’ve _got_ to be good at it.”

“But it’s been _years_ since I’ve done this.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the brunette’s reluctance.

They were still at the pub – their drinks only half-finished – and she’d noticed Hill’s eyes flitting towards the vintage piano at the far end of the tavern.

Natasha gave the woman’s hand a nudge and raised her eyebrows: _come on, please._

Hill sighed rather exaggeratedly and then got off her chair, snagging her drink with one hand. Natasha stood up too, somehow curbing her squeal of excitement as they made their way over to the piano.

They placed their glasses on the lid of the piano before the taller woman sat down on the stool. Natasha leaned against the piano, her back to the drinks, while Hill tried a few tentative keys.

The brunette’s fingers soon fell into a rhythm, and the soft notes began wafting in the air.

And Natasha nearly didn’t believe it when she recognised the tune.

_She’s playing “Kalinka.”_

Hill continued playing, and sure enough, it _was_ the famous Russian folk song.

The brunette’s eyes briefly flew towards Natasha’s face, like she wanted to check if Natasha was fine with her choice, and Natasha blinked back reassuringly.

Hill’s was a slower, almost ballad-like version of the song, and it was a pleasant change from the upbeat renditions that Natasha was used to hearing. The brunette’s fingers kept drifting smoothly over the keys, and Natasha found herself humming the lyrics of the song; the melody – the _memory_ – from a lifetime ago filling her heart with warmth.

The song ended soon – _too_ soon, actually – and the woman looked up at Natasha, her lips curved into a lopsided grin.

“I didn’t know you sing so well,” Hill murmured.

Natasha smiled back, “I didn’t know you play so well.”

The brunette ducked her head shyly, and Natasha placed a hand on her shoulder, “Could you play it again?”

“I do know other songs, Romanoff,” Hill replied.

“ _No_ ,” Natasha said, almost vehemently, “Play the same one.”

The brunette studied her for a few seconds and then nodded.

Her hands reached up and she started playing once again, her movements much more confident than before. Hill made it peppy this time, and Natasha simply listened, letting the notes fully wash over her.

The brunette finished the song and looked up at Natasha once again, that coy smile back on her lips. And Natasha didn’t even know that she’d been grinning back until Hill widened hers.

And Natasha was speaking before she could help herself, “Why do you always give in to my demands?”

_Without even questioning them…_

Hill stared at her for a bit, and then got off the stool, and Natasha’s gaze tracked the woman’s face as she stood up. Hill raised her hand, bringing it closer to Natasha’s hair ever so slowly.

And just when Natasha thought the taller woman would touch her, Hill moved the hand away, reaching for something behind Natasha, on the lid of the piano that Natasha had been propped against.

The brunette brought her glass forward and took a deliberate sip of the white cocktail in it, her eyes shining despite the dim lighting of the pub.

“ _Maybe,_ Romanoff,” Hill whispered, winking at Natasha, “I just like all things Russian.”

* * *

“Are you cold?”

“Nope. I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

“I meant are you _feeling_ cold.”

“Nope. I grew up in Russia. I can handle it.”

“You also had _hypothermia_ last night. Do you want another coat?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t going to give you the one I’m _wearing_. There’s an extra coat in the back of the car.”

“I _know_ you wouldn’t give me yours; why do you think I’m rejecting your offer?”

“So, you’d take it if I gave you mine?”

“Nope.”

“ _Goddammit_ , Romanoff, you’re –”

“The Devil? Yeah, I’ve been told.”

* * *

“So, whose place are we going to, for the night?”

Natasha drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for Hill’s answer, her head turned to look at the woman sitting beside her.

They were done with their dinner-and-drinks-and-stroll-across-the-town, and they were in the car, on their way back to the taller woman’s house.

Hill considered the question for a bit and then let out that familiar _what-are-you-up-to-this-time_ sigh, nearly making Natasha laugh.

“I couldn’t help but notice the name plate outside the house,” Natasha clarified, “It says _“Vitale,”_ which I’m pretty sure _isn’t_ how _Hill_ is spelt.”

“Yeah,” Hill nodded fondly, “She and I used to co-own the house. But she transferred it under my name, before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“She…” the brunette shook her head wistfully, “That house is very special. I come here whenever I can.”

But Natasha’s mind was stuck on the word: _“she.”_

_There’s a “she.”_

_“She” and Hill. Hill and “her.”_

The logical part of Natasha’s brain tried to tell her that there _had been_ a “she.” There wasn’t one _right now_ , because, obviously, there hadn’t been anybody in the house, apart from them.

But just the fact that there had been someone – someone serious enough to _own a house_ with – seemed to disturb Natasha, for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. 

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, “Well, your ex has great taste.”

_She must, given that she chose you._

The brunette gave her a quizzical look, and Natasha rolled her eyes, “ _The_ _décor of the house,_ Hill; it’s classic, but still chic.”

“I’ll have you know that I chose some of the furniture myself,” Hill huffed, her eyes studying Natasha’s face.

The taller woman paused for a bit before her gaze softened, as if she caught on Natasha’s distress.

“But all the antique stuff was bought a long time back,” Hill said, her voice gentle, “By my _grandmother.”_

And Natasha had no idea why that piece of information made her chest feel so much lighter.

“I used to visit her at least once a year, before she passed away,” the brunette added, her eyes glistening at the memories, “I just never felt like changing that name plate.”

Natasha only nodded back wordlessly, a strange queasiness filling her.

_Dammit, did I just get jealous of Hill’s dead grandmother?_

_“‘Green-eyed’_ is a good look on you, Romanoff; _literally_ ,” Hill smirked, her own orbs drilling into Natasha’s, “But we aren’t together _,_ remember?”

And Natasha instantly turned her head to look at the road ahead, hiding her grin as she twisted the ignition key to start the car.

They drove in silence, but the brunette’s words stayed on her mind the whole time.

_We aren’t together._

And, as much as Natasha had worked hard to keep it that way till now, she found herself struggling to come up reasons for why they weren’t.

* * *

_Oh my God, this has to be one of the cutest things ever._

Natasha was pretty sure she looked like a creepy serial killer, but she couldn’t stop smiling as she took in the sight of Hill sprawled on the bed.

They’d come back to the brunette’s house and then parted their ways to retire for the night. But Natasha had been all fidgety as she tried to sleep, alone in that master bedroom.

The mattress was amazingly comfortable, but she’d still been tossing and turning on the large king-sized bed. Natasha had eventually given up trying to sleep and bounded out of the room, prepared to explore the house.

Now that she’d learnt that it was once Hill’s grandmother’s, Natasha’s original intention had been to snoop around and gather intel. On the lieutenant’s childhood/teenage/early adult years.

But then, Hill’s words from earlier that day had echoed in Natasha’s mind, and she’d stopped herself.

_She prizes necessity above curiosity, and so should I._

The brunette had always given Natasha the space she’d needed, and Natasha had no right to invade hers. Plus, much as Natasha wanted to know more about the reclusive agent’s life, she wanted Hill to _tell_ her, if she ever would. 

Natasha had pretty much made up her mind to go back to her room, and she didn’t even realise it when her feet carried her over to Hill’s instead.

Not that she regretted it.

Because watching the lieutenant like this – sleeping on her side, one arm thrown across the mattress, dangling over the edge of the bed – wasn’t something she’d ever want to miss.

Hill’s features were serene, her breathing deep and smooth, but Natasha knew she was exhausted. By the physical and mental stress of the past two days. Natasha wanted to shift the woman’s arm back onto the mattress, but she didn’t want to wake her up in the process.

So, Natasha simply kept gazing at the brunette, drinking her in, wondering just _what_ was so special in the sight that made her want to smile so damn uncontrollably.

“You going to keep staring, Romanoff?”

Hill’s eyes were closed as she mumbled the question – the _same_ question from that morning – and she didn’t see Natasha’s grin widen (if that was even physically possible).

The brunette eventually opened her eyes, a small smirk on her lips as she tucked her outstretched hand under her pillow. Hill was obviously waiting for an answer, and Natasha was determined to do it right this time.

“Oh, _no_ , Hill,” Natasha replied, her voice soft, “I’m not _just_ going to stare.”

With that, Natasha began walking towards the woman, their eyes locked together. Natasha slowed down her pace as she got closer to the bed, and Hill scooted further into the mattress, like she knew Natasha needed the invitation.

Natasha smiled fondly as she lowered herself onto the bed, lying down on her side, her back facing the brunette. Hill lifted her blanket, letting Natasha into it, and Natasha snuggled against the woman’s body, craving the heat.

“You’d better be freezing if I’m allowing you into my bed,” the brunette murmured behind Natasha, her voice heavy with sleep.

And Natasha _was_ feeling cold; her earlier I’m-Russian-and-I-can-deal-with-it claim not really panning out as she’d expected.

But Natasha looked over her shoulder, giving the woman a side glance, and cocked up her brow, “I’m _not.”_

She stayed like that for a bit, watching Hill from the corner of her eye: _we both know you aren’t going to kick me out either way._

The brunette let out a gruff chuckle and – as always – accepted her defeat, her breath ruffling Natasha’s hair. And Natasha turned her face away, hiding her own grin.

And just when the smile was about to fade, Hill’s hand snaked over Natasha’s waist, and the woman pulled Natasha closer to herself.

The brunette rested her hand there, against Natasha’s midsection – preventing her from _leaving_ without pushing the arm away – and Natasha almost laughed at the lieutenant’s tactic.

_Check and mate, Hill._

Hill didn’t do or say anything after that, her breathing slowly settling into a rhythm, and Natasha knew she was asleep. And the calm Natasha felt in their position – as they _spooned –_ was an utter contrast to the buzz of energy that had been coursing through her just a few minutes ago.

It was terrifying, really, the extent of the tranquillity that was filling her; her own eyelids drooping as she inched closer towards oblivion.

But Natasha could hardly help it when she sighed peacefully and cuddled further into the brunette’s body.

It was the hottest, _warmest_ stuff ever.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that played on the radio in the Chevrolet: "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC. And "Kalinka" is that song that you've probably heard a million times but didn't know the name.
> 
> Also, if you want to know about how Hill gets those two GSWs to her leg, you'll have to read the earlier story "Catch Me If You Can."


End file.
